


Homesteading

by alderations



Series: Peapod McHanzo Week [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Chores, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Laundry, M/M, Peapod McHanzo Week, Southernisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 12:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13271679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alderations/pseuds/alderations
Summary: It looks like Jesse popped a laundry pod with his metal hand, which he’s currently scrubbing at with the back of his sleeve as if to make it stop shaking. Now that Hanzo gets a good look at him, his whole body is shaking, his eyes are wet, and he looks like he can hardly focus on the washing machine chugging away in front of him. “You called me?” prompts Hanzo.Jesse didn't realize that something so simple as laundry would bring back so much childhood.





	Homesteading

Hanzo pauses outside the tiny laundry room at the sound of something clattering to the floor, but Jesse doesn’t react, so he carries on. His boyfriend had insisted on doing laundry on his own, after all, and it wasn’t like measuring detergent was a priority in Hanzo’s crime-syndicate-heir education. Outside, Genji set up an old-fashioned clothesline, insisting that they’ll all feel a bit more connected to the world around them if they started “homesteading” at the base. Hanzo is fairly certain that the word entails raising children, or at least livestock, but Genji has a point about their line of work separating them so fully from reality at times.

 

He picks up a basket of freshly-washed clothes from outside the door of the laundry room and is nearly outside when he hears Jesse drop something once again. After a moment of stifling silence, his warm drawl emerges—not quite peaceful, Hanzo figures, maybe an air of sarcasm: “Well, sugar honey iced tea.”

 

McCree’s creativity never fails to make him giggle. Softly, to himself, definitely not where anyone else can see. He opens the door and shoves the basket of clothes in Genji’s general direction, before turning back to check on Jesse.

 

“Oh—oh, hi there, sweet pea,” laughs Jesse, voice trembling, when Hanzo peeks his head in. “You got that basket, right? Nothing new here.”

 

The floor on his feet is slick with spilled detergent. It looks like Jesse popped a laundry pod with his metal hand, which he’s currently scrubbing at with the back of his sleeve as if to make it stop shaking. Now that Hanzo gets a good look at him, his whole body is shaking, his eyes are wet, and he looks like he can hardly focus on the washing machine chugging away in front of him. “You called me?” prompts Hanzo.

 

“I—I did? I didn’t even know you were out there.”

 

Hanzo frowns. “You said something about… sweet tea. Usually, when you randomly shout about foods, I assume you are addressing me.”

 

They stare at each other for a moment, both clueless, before Jesse’s mouth spreads in a warm smile. Still shaking, but full of affection. “You thought that was a creative lil’ pet name, huh?”

 

“Are you making fun of me, Jesse? Your—your  _ southernisms _ are worth far more mockery than—”

 

“Oh, hush, darlin’, I just think you’re the cutest damn man I’ve ever seen.” Jesse wipes his hands off on his pants, then frowns and turns toward the sink when he realizes that it’ll take more work to get the sticky detergent off his skin. “Sugar-honey-iced-tea. Spells  _ shit.” _

 

In all honesty, that should’ve been expected. “That’s not too bad, I guess. Bless your heart.”

 

Jesse freezes cold.

 

Right when Hanzo’s starting to worry that he’s overstepped, even though Jesse had explained the phrase to him half a dozen times (it’s a level of irony that doesn’t work well with Hanzo, not to mind English being at least his fifth language), Jesse turns to face him again. This time, his face is steady. It’s just about the widest smile Hanzo has ever seen on him. “Han, love of my life, my precious blueberry pie—”

 

“Don’t go down that road, Jess.”

 

“—I never thought I’d see the day. Blessin’ my heart like that. I really am rubbin’ off on you, huh?”

 

Hanzo snorts. “Literally, sometimes.”

 

That makes Jesse laugh again, and as his chuckles wind down Hanzo realizes just how hard he’s shivering. It’s perfectly warm in the laundry room, despite the cool breeze outside the building, so it must be something else. Hanzo reaches out to steady his arms in a way that could easily be construed as simple affection. As soon as his palms brush through the dense hair on Jesse’s arms, smoothing over his skin, the smile melts like butter off of Jesse’s face and his bottom lip starts to quiver.

 

“What is wrong, beloved?”

 

Jesse faceplants in Hanzo’s shoulder, and as he wraps his arms around the cowboy’s broad back, Hanzo can feel tears soaking his collar. “I don’t know. Somethin’ about this… the ‘homesteading’ shit Genji’s tryin’a do… it’s set me off real bad. I don’t know why.”

 

Pursing his lips, Hanzo rubs his hands up and down Jesse’s back and kisses his ear, his head, his shoulder. “You grew up on a farm, did you not? My wonderful cowboy.”

 

“Y-yeah, we—we had more goats than anythin’ else, those fuckers are hard to kill even in New Mexico, and we didn’t have a washer or anythin’ ‘cause we were dirt fuckin’ poor and we—we—we’d wash our clothes in the crick and hang ‘em up to dry but they had to be way off the ground or the damn goats’d eat ‘em and…” He’s sobbing openly by the time his voice tapers off. Hanzo plucks the hat from his head and combs his fingers through Jesse’s hair. “I didn’t even think about it ‘til you asked.”

 

“Mm. I have similar moments all the time. Especially where Genji is involved.”

 

Jesse just sighs, deep and troubled, while Hanzo takes stock of the mess he’s made of the laundry room. Nearly every surface is tacky and wet. At least, he figures, it’s all soap. “Genji’s gonna be pissed when he sees the state o’ this place.”

 

Hanzo shakes his head and leans back, slowly, to wipe the tears from Jesse’s cheeks. “Mei has been sweating in the sun with him all morning. She will be happy to take over the washing.”

 

“But then I’ll just—I’ll have to go out there a-and—”

 

“No, you won’t.” With the tiniest smirk, Hanzo brushes his fingers through his boyfriend’s beard and kisses the tip of his crooked nose, mostly because he loves watching how it scrunches up. “We can do our own… homesteading.”

 

Jesse bites his lip, knowing full well that Hanzo doesn’t like to be laughed at. Openly, at least. “I don’t think that euphemism is likely to catch on, buttercup.”

 

“Well, Mr. Sugar Honey Iced Tea, I don’t think you’re one to judge.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a Chicagoan raised by Alabamians so... we all have weird half-sarcastic drawls combined with a healthy disdain for both Yankee Bullshit and Shitty Southern Belle White Moms. I know "Hanzo is confused by Southern sayings" is the most damn overused trope in this fandom, but a) I haven't seen anyone specifically address weird Southern curses and b) I don't care.
> 
> They might not even be Southern. I never realized my parents had accents til I was, like, 12. I'm winging it here.


End file.
